


Not a Manhattan Love Story

by MachaSWicket



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: "the calm" post-episode, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, conversations in a bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY:  <b>SPOILERS FOR “THE CALM.”</b> <i>Roy is not the guy for this. And maybe it makes him a fucking wuss, but he’s starting to panic a little. He’d rather go up against ten assholes on mirakuru than witness Felicity’s devastation.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Manhattan Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS: To katelinnea and youguysimserious for betaing and suggesting titles. :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to DC and Warner Bros.

Roy almost doesn't even check the text when he hears the irritating chime. (It’s _really_ irritating, like some weird reverb version of Disney birds chirping -- retaliation for whacking one of Felicity’s monitors in frustration. He can’t figure out how Felicity managed to remove the settings screen on his phone, but it’s gone and he’s stuck with goddamn cartoon birds on acid.)

The volume is out of his control, too, so he hears every single text no matter where his phone is in his shitty little apartment. And every time he tries to ignore it. Because Thea texts Felicity. Not him. But whenever he hears those garbled bird noises, he thinks maybe this time it's Thea. It’s never her, and every time he gets a little angrier because he’s fucking sick of being sad, so basically texts aren't really his favorite thing in the world right now.

But damn Oliver to hell -- Roy feels a sense of responsibility to the whole Team Arrow concept, so he cusses under his breath while he does it, but he checks the text.

It's a picture, actually. From Felicity, and he knows before he opens it that it's going to make him smile. She’s pretty irritating that way. Gets right past all your defenses before you realize it, even on days when you think all that will help is tangling with some asshole in need of a good beating. 

When the picture opens, Roy is embarrassed by the _aww_ -type sound that comes out of his mouth. He’s pretty sure he’s never made a sound so unmanly before in his life, but apparently Lyla had the baby, and for a squished up newborn, she's pretty cute.

His phone buzzes again, and this time it's a selfie -- Felicity's grinning face in the near corner, Dig leaning down beside Lyla and his kid in the middle of the frame, and Oliver in the background, over Dig's shoulder. They're all smiling, but even on the small phone screen, Roy can tell Oliver's is forced.

The RPG thing must be still bothering him. Which really sucks for the rest of them, since Oliver lives and broods in their Team Arrow workspace. Hard to let your mind go blank and train with Mr. Little Black Rain Cloud glowering in the corner.

But Roy is off the superhero clock for the day, so he'll worry about Oliver's manic depressive bullshit tomorrow.

You'd think the guy who’d spent three days grinning like a damn fool at Felicity wouldn't be quite so cranky -- she wasn't even hurt. Or fazed. Which was actually pretty impressive. RPG attack on a restaurant and this girl cracks jokes about bad first dates.

If you ask Roy, Oliver should take a page from his girlfriend's book and stop being so tortured all the time.

The phone buzzes again, and Roy actually rolls his eyes. Because there’s cheerful and then there’s Felicity in dog-with-a-bone mode, and he’s really not in the mood for her relentlessness tonight. But he dutifully checks it anyway. Just a text this time.

_I need a drink._

Roy frowns at the message from Felicity. Because when she’s complaining about drinks, it’s almost always coffee. She’s really fucking weird about coffee. _What kind of drink?_ he texts back.

 _Whatever will get me drunk fastest._ she answers. And how can she even type that fast?

_Aw, cmon, I thought the baby was kind of cute._

Again, she answers more quickly than he thinks is possible. _You're terrible. And sorry to intrude on your night, but I might need a designated driver._

Roy's concerned now, because this isn't at all like Felicity. Getting shitfaced with him? That’s a thing that just doesn’t happen. Hell, Felicity getting shitfaced _at all_ is a bizarre concept to him. As far as Roy can tell, she’s a couple-glasses-of-wine-with-my-meal kind of girl. Wildly inconsistent behavior from the most consistent member of Team Arrow -- that’s probably a problem. _What's wrong?_

_Please, Roy? McGettigan's ASAP._

Well, shit. Something’s definitely wrong. Why the hell Felicity wants _him_ to be involved in her little drunkfest is beyond him, but if she needs someone, he’ll be there. Roy has more than his fair share of shitty qualities, but he’s goddamned loyal. _Sure,_ he texts back. He's already up and moving, shoving his feet into the nearest pair of sneakers and grabbing his keys.

He's reaching for the doorknob when she replies, and he pauses to read her message.

_Starting without you. Oliver and I are over._

Roy stares at her words, trying to make sense of them. Because he's pretty sure no two people have ever been as disgustingly into each other as those two fools, so what even happened? 

"Fuck," he says, and opens the door.

His apartment is pretty deep in the Glades, since that’s the only way he could possibly afford it, and for once he’s grateful for Oliver’s annoying training regimen. Because Roy slips into an easy jog, making it the couple miles to the bar Felicity chose in less than twenty minutes. He slows and walks the last block, letting his breathing get back to normal before pushes open the door. 

McGettigan’s isn’t really what Roy considers Felicity’s scene. Dark, rundown, and way too close to the Glades for him to feel comfortable about her getting trashed there by herself.

He pushes his way inside and pauses, letting his eyes adjust. There’s terrible country music whining from the jukebox, and a few guys playing pool. Felicity is stupidly easy to spot. Everyone else in the place is kind of bland – faded t-shirts, jeans, some ugly-ass flannel shirts. And then there’s Felicity, sitting at the bar in a purple dress and high heels, her bright blonde hair glowing even in the dim light.

And she has one empty glass in front of her already.

Roy reaches the bar and slips up onto the stool beside her. “Hey.”

When she looks over at him, he actually gasps. She looks kind of terrible -- which he won’t tell her, obviously, but from her rueful smile, she probably guessed what he’s thinking. Her eye makeup is smudged with tear tracks, and her nose is pink. But it’s the crushing sadness in her expression that’s the absolute worst. 

“Thanks,” she says, her voice a little shaky and much more subdued than normal. “I’m sorry to ruin your night.” She tries to smile, but it just made everything worse, because it’s an unconvincing imitation of her usual brightness.

“What happened?”

Her smile cracks and fades, and she turns to the bartender. “Another. And whatever he wants.”

Roy sighs. “Heineken’s fine.” He doesn’t want anything, but he doesn’t want to sit there and just stare at her while she drinks either. So he'll nurse a beer for as long as it takes Felicity to get drunk enough that he can take her home and make sure she passes out safely in her own bed.

“Heineken’s terrible,” Felicity mutters. “Drink a real beer.”

“Hey,” Roy protests, but he’s honestly a little relieved to hear an echo of her usual spark. “And what are you drinking?”

“Manhattans,” she answers. “They taste kind of terrible, but at least they’re strong.”

Roy taps his fingers against the bar. “Felicity...”

“I can’t,” she says. “Please don’t ask me to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s pretty sure Felicity Smoak is not going to sit here and _not_ talk about whatever is going on in that scary brain of hers. So probably he just needs to sit there long enough for her to start. “But I don’t understand.”

Her laugh is bitter and sad, and Roy thinks he’s never heard a more depressing sound. This is _Felicity_. Bright, shiny Felicity, who talks a mile a minute and finds the goddamned bright side of _everything_ , which is irritating as hell, but reliable. She smiles all the time, and she laughs openly and genuinely.

Except right now. And this bitterness –- it’s awful.

Roy is going to _kill_ Oliver.

“I wish I didn’t,” she murmurs, but their drinks arrive before Roy can ask what she meant. Felicity thanks the bartender with a wan smile, lifts her glass, and clanks it against Roy’s. “To the Queen family castoffs,” she toasts before taking a healthy swig of her drink. She swallows and then hisses, her nose scrunching up a little. Then her eyes widen and she turns to him, contrite. “Oh. Roy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—It’s just a really... _terrible_ day and-- Well, I mean, Lyla had the baby, so it’s actually a _great_ day, and I’m so happy for them, really, it’s just--“ She half-sobs, half-laughs, and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. You’re not a castoff, Roy, and I shouldn’t have said--“

“Felicity,” he interrupts, wishing he wasn’t so goddamn terrible at this kind of thing. “Don’t worry about me, right now.” Felicity should be with her girlfriends for this, but Oliver Queen and his damn secrets mean that she has to sit here in a bar with some fuckup from the Glades who can’t even figure out whether he should try to hug her or something. He’s a terrible hugger. “And you’re _not_ a castoff. You’re the best part of Team Arrow.”

She looks down at the bar, her fingernails tracing scratches in the wood. “It’s not my crusade, so I don’t get to choose. Apparently.” She sighs heavily, and Roy’s distressed to realize she’s crying a little bit now, tears streaking down her face. But she ignores them, taking another large sip of her drink as if she doesn’t even realize she's crying.

Roy is at a loss. Should he change the subject, or would that be insensitive? Because she said she didn’t want to talk about it, but it’s basically all she's talking about -- at least as far as he can tell. He knows he isn’t up on all the Team Arrow dynamics, but he’d been _so_ sure that Oliver and Felicity finally acknowledging the obvious and hooking up would be a good thing. And he’d _really_ hoped that Oliver getting some on the regular would help with all the annoying brooding.

“So,” Felicity says with false enthusiasm, swiping a hand across her cheek. “Let’s talk about you. How are you feeling about the team?”

Roy blinks. “Uh. Fine?”

She nods. “Good.” She takes another drink, and Roy’s eyebrows rise when he notices how little liquid is left in her glass. “I’m going to need another,” she murmurs to herself.

“Maybe some water,” Roy suggests. Because her movements are a bit uncoordinated now, her face little flushed. “Key to getting wasted is to drink a lot of water. Keeps it going longer.”

Her face falls. “I don’t want to keep it going,” she snaps. “I’m not going clubbing. I just want to drink until I can’t feel anything.” She exhales a long, shaky breath, and adds quietly, “It hurts too much.”

Roy’s chest tightens a little at her words. It’s worse than he expected. It’s bad enough that he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing to make her feel better. “Felicity, I don’t think--“

“He broke up with me,” she interrupts, her gaze fixed on her near-empty glass as she turns it in slow circles on the bar.

He falls quiet, letting her talk because she clearly needs to. He’ll let her explain, and then he’ll give her a hug, and after he takes her home, he’ll give Oliver a piece of his mind. Not that Roy thinks Oliver will listen, but he should at least know how devastated she is.

Felicity huffs an angry laugh. “I mean, we only went on one date, so it’s not like we were _together_. Half a date,” she corrects. “Not even half. I never even picked up the menu.” Her voice is soft, and full of longing, and Roy’s hands are clenched into fists in his lap.

He hums, not wanting to interrupt, but wanting her to know that he’s paying attention.

“ _He_ made the decision to start things up. I was okay. I never really thought…” She sniffles, then finishes off her drink, putting the glass down with a heavy thud. “I mean, I did. Of course I did. I hoped, but it was... I could handle it. I was _fine_ ,” she says, angry now. “And then Oliver makes the decision for both of us. He starts things up, and it was--“ She stops, a hand pressed to her mouth, eyes closed as she tries to bring herself under control. “It was _everything_ ,” she whispers.

Roy’s leg jiggles on the footrest, expelling some of his nervous tension. He doesn’t know how to handle this. He really doesn’t. He is not the guy for this. And maybe it makes him a fucking wuss, but he’s starting to panic a little. He’d rather go up against ten assholes on mirakuru than witness Felicity’s devastation.

“And then,” she continues, her voice stronger now, “because he’s Oliver, he ended it. No discussion, no arguments, just--” Her hand slashes through the air. “Over.” She stills for a long moment, her gaze a little unfocused, before she straightens and gestures to the bartender. “One more.”

“Felicity.”

She clenches her jaw, but adds, “And a water.”

“Thank you,” he says.

She dips her chin, folding her hands carefully on the bar in front of her. “He broke up with me, then he kissed me, then he told me he loved me,” she confesses, her voice shaking.

Roy blinks, trying to assemble that into something that made sense. “So you’re--?”

“Over,” she repeats, her voice breaking on the word. “We’re over. He doesn’t want me enough to be with me, but he wants me too much to _let me go_. It’s not fair.” And suddenly, she’s sobbing, her forehead resting on her hands, her body bent in half. 

Roy is off his stool before he can really think about it, pressing against her side and looping an arm around her back. “I’m sorry,” he says, ignoring the weird tightness in his gut. He wants to make her stop crying, make her feel better, but he has no idea how. “I’m really sorry.” He rubs her shoulder and lets her cry. Because she needs it almost as much as Oliver needs his ass kicked.

The bartender approaches cautiously, placing the Manhattan and the water near Roy’s untouched beer. Roy nods his thanks, and uses his free hand to ask for the check.

He’s not sure how long she cries. At some point, she takes her glasses off and lays them on the bar with one shaking hand. It’s awful to listen to, to feel her shaking under his hand. After a while, she lists sideways, her shoulder leaning into his chest, and he uses his free hand to gently pull her toward him. She resists for a moment, then half turns, pressing her face into her palms and her forehead into his chest as he wraps his other arm around her.

Roy supposes they’re making kind of a scene, but he doesn’t really give a shit. In fact, he gives his best glare to the guys in the corner who are literally laughing and pointing. Change of plans – drive her home, come back _here_ , kick those guys’ asses, then to the lair to drop some information on Oliver.

Her phone chirps, loudly enough to get her attention even through her misery, and she takes a big, unsteady breath. Pushing herself upright, she swipes her hands over her face twice, then grabs her glasses. 

“Felicity,” Roy chides. Because, seriously, fuck Oliver and his mission right now. He can handle shit on his own for a little while.

“No, it’s an alert,” she says, her voice waterlogged and raspy as she digs her phone out of her bag. She gives him a tiny but genuine smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

She nods. “Thanks, then.”

Roy holds her gaze. “Any time,” he answers, his tone serious.

Felicity fishes her phone out of her bag, wiping her eyes with her free hand. Roy leans over the bar and swipes a few cocktail napkins, putting them on the bar in front of her, careful to avoid condensation rings. She grabs a couple and dabs absently at her face as she accesses her phone. Frowning, she scrolls through the alert.

She stiffens, her mouth dropping open in shock.

Roy is instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?” Out of habit, he scans the bar for threats, for anything out of the ordinary.

“No,” Felicity whispers, and his gaze snaps back to her.

Instinctively, Roy fishes out his wallet and fumbles for cash to cover the bill. “What happened?” Because he needs to know what kind of threat they’re facing, so he can figure out how to neutralize it.

But Felicity is shaking her head at the screen. “But-- What--?”

“Felicity.”

She turns wide, shocked eyes to him. “Sara.”

Roy’s head tilts to the side as he tries to piece things together. “She’s back?“ he guesses. But why would Felicity be panicking about that?

“Sara’s...” She pauses, glancing back to her phone briefly. “Sara’s dead.”

Roy takes a step back. “What? No.” He realizes he’s talking way too loudly, but can’t seem to stop. “What are you talking about?”

As if his reaction snaps her out of hers, she’s suddenly Felicity again. Slightly tipsy Felicity, but Felicity nonetheless. “We have to go,” she says, her voice stronger and full of determination. She stumbles a little as she stands, and Roy steadies her with a hand on her elbow. “We need to go to the foundry.”

Roy blinks. “But--“

“It’s _Sara_ ,” Felicity interrupts. “We have work to do.” She starts to move toward the door, then turns back to him. “We need to be together. In one place.” She shrugs helplessly. “He needs us.”

Of course she would try to put all of her own shit aside to get the job done, to comfort everyone else. But this time, she’s got some pretty heavy shit going on, and maybe she needs to worry about that. “Felicity, why don’t I bring you home and I’ll go--“

“No.” She’s already shaking her head. “He needs us. All of us.” She presses a hand to her chest, takes a deep, calming breath, and exhales. “This is more important.”

And she turns on her heel, marching toward the door in her bright purple dress. Roy has no real choice other than to follow.

END


End file.
